


Mystical Mysterio

by Spacialhair



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2020-08-19 05:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20204524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacialhair/pseuds/Spacialhair
Summary: The Beck from Peter's universe might have lied about everything, but what about one from an honest-to-god alternate universe. When Alternate Quentin Beck falls into Peter's universe, he is confused and full of powers he still doesn't understand and can't control. He needs to get home, but can he do it before his powers drive him mad?Tumblr (View art for this story): https://mysticalmysterio.tumblr.com/





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please Enjoy! I haven't posted here before so I hope this is okay :)

Quentin took a long chug of water as the nurse watched him take his meds for the day. He hated taking them. They tasted like chalk and turned his mind to mush. He knew within a half hour he would be so out of it that even reading would be difficult.

When he had first arrived he had tried to show the doctors and other professionals that he could be off them, but then the energy that flowed through him would get too intense and start warping his thoughts, making even him believe in the illusions his magic could create. It would trap him in a bubble of his own worst fears.

So even though he hated taking the meds, right now it was the only way to keep his mind from breaking even more than it already was. And it had taken a few incidents for that fact to truly hit home.

Quentin finished the water and dropped the plastic white solo cup in the small trash can he had in the corner, next to the chair in which he sat.

Before she left the nurse checked he had indeed taken his meds, even having him open his mouth and lift his tongue.

"Very good." The nurse mumbled to herself once she was finished. She patted Quentin's hand and made toward the door. "Press the buzzer if you need anything Mr. Beck."

It clicked shut behind her. Locked.

Quentin sighed and leaned back in his seat, a plush armchair next to a flimsy plywood desk. On the desk were a few soft cover books and on the wall above were some get well cards that he had kept ever since the accident all those years ago.

He reached out and grabbed an old letter pinned among the cards, the one that was supposedly from his former boss. It had been typed up and printed. It read:

**_Dear Mr. Beck,_**

** _ I apologize for the unfortunate accident that occurred. All medical bills and other such costs will be covered by the company._ **

** _ Well wishes, Tony Stark_ **

Quentin put the letter back into place, thinking. He tried to recall the fuzzy memories he had off the accident, but the meds were kicking in and making his mind start to turn slow. He forced himself to trudge through the mud of his thoughts.

His team and him had been working on defense tech, drones of some sort for Mr. Stark. They had been working on it for years and it was something he was so proud of. But that day something went wrong.

He stood in the main testing area with the drones and had his team up in the view mount move them around with controls. It was going so smoothly.

He remembered that his face hurt from smiling so much.

But then a sound like fabric ripping filled the space and he had clutched his ears as they began to bleed. His coworkers seemed effected as well but not as severely. As the sound grew louder and louder the lights flickered and suddenly power was lost. Drones crashed to the floor and the room was cast in complete darkness.

"What’s going on? Is everyone okay?" Quentin heard the question from far away and thankfully heard a chorus of replies, but he couldn't speak. The sound was in his head now, and blood dripped from his ears and nose.

The green light appeared a second later, bright and so close Quentin could have touched it. It was like a rip in the air, and green mist billowed out and around Quentin. It got thicker and thicker until it was all he could see, and it muffled the roaring sound.

Then he can't remember anything. Just waking up in the hospital with strange new abilities he couldn't control but that could scarily control him.

He stood as the meds began to really hit, making him feel light on his feet and dazed. Almost like he was high. He made his way over to his bed on wobbly legs and sat down.

He shook his head to clear it of the memories he had, but the ripped sound remained. Almost like an echo of a car alarm.

The sound grew louder.

Quentin shivered at the noise, twisted his wrists to try to shake the nerves, and noticed that his palms glowed a pale green. The glow worked its way up to the tips of his fingers and up his arms, all while the ripping got louder and louder.

He tried to call for help but no sound exited his throat. In a sudden panic that only slightly wore off the dullness in his mind, he jolted for the door but couldn't open it. It was locked.

'DAMN IT!' Thought Quentin as he pounded his fists against the metal.

The glow had moved all the way up to his shoulders. He could see it through the material of his shirt.

His heart pounded in full blown panic as he continued to slam on the door, but no one came.

What was happening to him?? Was it his magic wreaking havoc on his mind again? This felt like one of those walking nightmares, but the meds were supposed to stop them and had stopped them until now.

He turned from the door frustrated and was enveloped by a cloud of green. It was lit from the light emanating from his pores. The glow had finally filled up every part of him now and made his eyes into spotlights.

Terrified but wanting to face whatever was happening, Quentin took a step forward and to his surprise didn't find the floor and plummeted into sudden darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**New York City, United States**

The day had started out wonderfully, it was sunny and cloudless. He had been able to swing MJ around the city, watching with adoration as she squeezed her eyes closed and clung on tight around his shoulders.

Now it was in shambles.

Spiderman was perched on a light post, hands cupped to the sides of his head in shock. His skull and heart pounded. His stomach was in his toes with dread.

"Spiderman's name is Peter Parker!"

The words reverberated in the air around him, as the people on the street looked up at him with expressions varying from shock to disbelief to anger.

Some of them believed in Mysterio! In the lies he was telling, and they were believing in how he twisted the truth. And he was in the eyes of the crowd as the belief spread. Like a virus.

Peter felt like he might break apart if he didn't get out of here and his heart was in his throat. He only took one look at MJ before swinging away, the yelling of outrage following behind him. He would text her later, but best not to bring attention to her while so many people were around.

As he swung past buildings and tried to rush to Aunt May's apartment, he missed having MJ tucked into his arms. Hopefully she understood why he fled.

As Peter swung, his brain spun, nerves all jumbled to hell. His heart beat an irrational rhythm.

He swung into the roof of the apartment building him and Aunt May called home. She was already standing there with Happy. Their hands were intertwined and from the look on their faces, Peter knew they had seen the broadcast.

Peter landed before them and stripped off his mask and began gasping as a panic attack took over. Aunt May rushed over and collected him into her arms, stroking his hair.

She began hurriedly talking to Happy, but Peter couldn't make out what they were saying. Something about getting away from the city and clearing his name.

"B-but how?" Peter asked, leaning away, his young face twisted with despair. Hadn't he been through enough? Hadn't Quentin done enough damage? "I saw when the news came out! They believe him! They believe that egocentric maniac!"

"He must have people helping him." Happy said. He had a cellphone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he dug through his pockets.

He offered Peter something he never expected.

A Hulk themed stress ball.

The surprise of it caused Peter's panic attack to subside a bit. He took it and started to knead it between his fingers.

"I'm just going to make a call. Get you away from here until we can get this sorted out." Then he moved away from them and it was Peter and Aunt May alone for the moment.

He tried to crush the thing with all his might but couldn't. It wasn't nowhere near satisfying enough. Peter's anger had begun to heat his chest and he had an urge to punch a dead man in the face.

"Can I see that?" May asked. Her eyes were stormy, even though she was trying to stay cool and collected for Peter's sake.

"Sure." Peter said, passing it to her.

She squeezed to hard it ripped open and sand fell between her fingers. Her eyes blazed protectively. Peter got a chill done his back; sure his aunt would kill Quentin again if she could.

She tossed the stress ball onto the gravel of the roof. "Ugh! Sorry Peter sweetie."

Peter sat and hugged his knees to his chest, unsure of what to do. Aunt May sat beside him and together they watched as clouds moved across the sky, light grey at first and then getting darker and thinner.

"Do you think it's safe for us to stay up on this roof?" Peter asked. "If people know who I am and think I'm a murderer, I'll be surprised if they don't send every swat team and helicopter our way." Peter's voice was small. May wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"They will take you over my dead body!" Aunt May looked up sharply and called over to Happy, who was off the phone and jogging over. "Any news?"

Happy crouched down before them, took May's hand and rested the other on Peter's shoulder. "We have someone coming. Will be here in three minutes to take us somewhere hidden. Once we are at the location, we can make an action plan."

"Where are we going?" May asked.

Happy shrugged. "Not sure. Fury said he had it covered."

"Just when I thought I could relax. Now I'm a fugitive." Peter mumbled.

"Maybe we can stop by the retirement home and ask Cap about how that went for him." Happy joked.

Peter chucked at the attempt to lighten the horrible situation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin lands in another dimension. And immediately gets punched in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such short chapters. I find they are easier to write in short bursts. So they might be short but there will be more. I hope they are worth it.

Quentin woke to the feeling of air rushing past him and when he pried open his eyes, he really wished he hadn't. The world around him was all warped and looked like a living Jackson Pollock painting. Everywhere he looked was splashes of color and faded images.

His stomach tumbled. This felt way worse than any merry-go-round or roller coaster he had been on a kid. God, he might even throw up.

Where was he? Was this one of his mind’s illusions? Had his special meds finally stopped working and he was now trapped in a bubble of fake reality?

His heart plummeted at the thought.

And then he stopped moving. He let out a pained grunt as his arms and legs were flung forward from the built-up momentum.

Then he just floated in the middle of the void, feeling a lot like an astronaut when they experience zero gravity for the first time.

The next thing Quentin noticed as how silent it was.

He reached up and touched his ears and his fingers came back slick with blood.

Had his eardrums burst? Was he deaf now?

He opened his mouth to speak but instead of words, green smoke poured out, forming a cloudy floor underneath him. He lowered himself and was grateful for the semblance of gravity.

Quentin took deep breaths, trying to stay as calm as possible. Even his breathing made no noise. It was unnerving.

"Maybe we can stop by the retirement home and ask Cap about how that went for him."

A voice? Quentin dropped to the floor and pressed his ear to the cloudy surface. So, he wasn't deaf.

"Yeah, sure."

Quentin gave a gasp of relief but was jolted when the floor opened beneath him, opening to an all new world, spilling him out hard onto rough gravel. He fell forward and face planted in the small stones, scrapping his hands, face and forearms.

He looked behind him quick enough to see the rip the air stitch itself shut, stranding him.

"What the fuck just happened?" He said to himself, eyes wide. "Where am I?"

The moment of surprise ended when Quentin was suddenly pulled up by the front of his messy shirt and punched hard in the face by a dark-haired woman with wrathful eyes.

Blood spurted from his now broken nose and he crumpled, clutching his face. The pain caused tears to pool in the corner of his eyes.

"What the hell lady?" He asked, slowly rising and backing away, hands raised in surrender.

She never replied. She looked too angry to speak, like if she opened her mouth fire would spew out instead of words.

As the lady stared daggers at him, he noticed that she wasn't the only one standing there. Behind her was a thick middle-aged man who seemed vaguely familiar and some teenager in a weird red and black and blue spandex suit. They looked too shocked to be as angry as the woman, but Quentin wasn't about to take his chances.

He quickly turned and raced to the other edge of what he sadly realized was at roof, and his stomach twisted as he saw how high up he was. No way would he be able to make the jump. But the lady was advancing on him, cracking her knuckles. She was terrifying.

So, Quentin jumped, or so he made them think, as he cloaked himself in illusion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this up. I've been having a hard time lately with my mental health and have a bunch of other personal projects I'm working on on top of that, so its been slow going.  
Hoping to get the next chapter out faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated the little interaction with the illusion, because it felt off with her speaking.

Quentin thought he was in the clear as the three people ran to the edge of the roof and looked over at the street below with expressions of horror.

"Oh my god!" The dark-haired woman cried, then clasped a hand to her mouth. Her other hand reached out blindly and pulled the boy in the strange black and red suit back.

The boy looked traumatized, but Quentin didn't have time to worry about it. He had no clue who these people were, and the lady had already broken his nose.

Quentin snuck over to the block of concrete with the roof entrance door set in it. He kept a watchful eye on the three strangers, who still seemed shocked by his illusion, but before he could even wrap his fingers around the metal handle to slip inside, something changed. An electricity filled the air and the teenage boy looked over at him, through him and within moments Quentin was no longer cloaked near the door but lying flat on his back on the hard gravel, the air knocked out of him and his head spinning with pain.

Faintly in the distance, Quentin heard more screams and encroaching sirens.

The boy was perched on his chest, keeping air from entering Quentin’s lungs, one hand wrapped in the fabric of his hospital attire and the other raised in a fist.

"Peter! Get back!" The woman cried, running over, the pudgy man right at her heels.

"Y-you killed him! Who was that?" The boy, Peter, yelled in Quentin's face. Peter's pale features were twisted with anger. His brown eyes had a sort of dullness to them, like someone who has suffered a trauma and whose brain was still wrapping around the events. Quentin understood that look; He saw it every time he looked in a mirror.

Quentin was silent a moment, before answering. "I didn't kill anyone! It was an illusion I used to try to get away from you! It wasn't real."

Peter smashed Quentin's head against the ground and bared his teeth. "Tell that to the man whose head is splayed all over the pavement!"

Peter was jerked backwards by the woman and the man, one on either side, arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him back from pounding Quentin into the pavement. He vibrated with pent up anger.

"What are you talking about?" Quentin asked, propping himself up on his elbows, his stomach knotting with anxiety.

"I knew you were a fake who didn't care about anyone other than himself, but..." Peter trailed off, slumping. "But you’re supposed to be dead..."

Quentin slowly got to his feet, unsteady. Peter's last comment didn't register in Quentin's head, his mind spinning too fast to hold on to any one thought. He fumbled toward the roofs edge, still shaken by the blows to his head. He gripped the edge and looked over.

He vomited and fell back on his butt, heart pounding.

Below him he had seen chaos, police and ambulances arriving on scene, moving back a panicked crowd. On the sidewalk was a body, twisted at impossible angels. Underneath the corpse’s head it looked like someone had splashed a whole can of red paint.

Quentin had seen himself, splayed out and dead. He recognized the grayish-green hospital garb and the white sneakers.

Quentin gripped the sides of his head as panic overtook him, and green smoke billowed out around him, coming off his breath. On the air, he heard whispers and ghostly faces came in and out of view. Fear chilled his bones.

The illusions that tore apart his mind were starting, taking over like a sickness, feeding off his panic and fear. He could feel them like how he imagined a rabbit sensed a predator.

_And if they can turn solid in this place... _he couldn't even finish the thought.

He had to calm down, to try to regain control.

"Y-you aren’t r-real! You aren't!" Quentin shouted, clamping his eyes shut. "You've never been real! You're poison! That's all! You’re a disease that attached to me when that rift opened! Nothing more!"

When Quentin opened his eyes, before him was one of the worst of his illusions, the one that plagued him the most when he was at his worst. The deathly pale woman was on her knees before him, blond hair flowing out around her like a halo. Her face was blurred, and her naked chest was a cavity filled with black and her fingers looked tipped in black paint.

She was a nightmare born into reality.

"What the fuck?" The pudgy man shouted.

"Go away..." Quentin pleaded the woman, who reached out and touched his cheek almost tenderly. "Leave me alone..."

The lady tilts her head, hair moving like she is underwater.

Quentin says, louder this time, trying to straighten his shoulders, trying to look tougher than he felt, even though that had never worked before with her. "Leave me alone!"

The woman is suddenly sent flying back with a kick to the face, and she erupts into green smoke. The boy, Peter, is crouched before him, mask pulled over his face. His large white eyes are rimmed in black, looking like someone going heavy on eyeliner.

"Who was that chick? She was scary!"

Quentin is too shocked to answer, blinking at where the woman had been, but not for long.

Peter turns to him and in one swift movement Quentin being is hauled over the boy's slim shoulder. A moment later he is tossed into a sleek looking grey plane, one he hadn't even heard arrive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Quentin converse.

Peter couldn't believe it as he sat across from the passed-out man. It was Quentin Beck all right, but with longer hair, almost to his shoulders and framing his face, streaks of grey running through it. He looked older too, by at least ten years. He was paler, with dark circles under his eyes and thick stubble on the lower half of his face. Beck's nose was now a bit crooked from Aunt May's punch, but Peter had cleaned up the blood and bandaged it. 

At first, they had been sure it had been Mysterio, back from the dead to traumatize Peter some more and soak up his new fame, but how the stranger had reacted to seeing that man dead on the pavement, it bugged Peter. And the green smoke that had seeped from his pores and created that monstrous lady...

Peter shivered at the thought of her featureless face.

No, this wasn't Quentin Beck. Now the one he had known, but he had to make sure.

Peter got up and went to collect Happy and some supplies.

**~~~**

Quentin was sure he must have fallen asleep on the jet, or just majorly zoned out once he was in a plush seat, because he only woke up or became aware when the boy, whose name he dimly recalled was Peter, roughly shook his shoulder.

"Wake up sleepy head." Peter said. He sat across from Beck in regular clothes, a hoodie and jeans. He looked beyond tired, his brown hair messy and his eyes rimmed in dark.

Groggily, Quentin asked, "What time is it? How long was I out?" 

"Long enough for us to run some tests." Peter replied. "And long enough for my Aunt May to tie you to your chair."

Quentin startled, tried to get up but found that he couldn't. He was bound to his seat by his torso and wrists, by some smooth black rope. He did his best to beat down the panic rising in his chest, unsure of what to do. He kept trying to think logically.

"I'm not sure who you think I am, but I'm not." Quentin says, his voice wavering just a little. "I'm not even sure how I got here."

"Your name is Quentin Beck. Your 52 years old." Peter replies, shrugs. "As to how you got here: we still are unsure." 

"Now..." Peter takes a deep breath, leans forwards and rests his elbows on his knees. He makes eye contact with Quentin. "While you were out Happy drew some of your blood and did a DNA test, which is why we know who you are, but he also did a cellular scan and it showed something... strange."

"Strange... how?" Quentin asked after a moment, not sure if he wanted to know.

"Your cellular structure is not like anything like from this universe. It's denser, which shouldn't be possible." Peter looks thoughtful. Then he continues. "It means you’re from somewhere else."

"But if I'm from somewhere else, how do you know my name?" Quentin asks.

"You're from a parallel universe." Peter states, sounding almost awed. "An honest to god one."

"A parallel universe would mean there is another me in this universe." Quentin says, more to himself. He is settling in his seat, no longer fighting against the ropes. His brain is spinning with questions and he find himself excited for the first time in as long as he can remember. 

"The Mr. Beck from this universe... how can I say it?" Peter ponders, and Quentin notices his eyes flash with emotion, pain, hurt and sadness. "He was a fraud. He pretended to be from another universe, pretended to be my friend. He called himself Mysterio. He was a bad guy who only cared about himself. He was able to get a certain technology and was going to hurt millions of people, all to make himself look like a hero. I- I had to stop him..." Peter trails off, tears slowly running down his face. He quickly wipes them away. "He got shot while I was saving him. I saw him die. Which is why it is so strange sitting across from you."

"I'm so sorry, for him being awful and you having to see him die." Quentin said, unsure of what else to say. He felt guilty on behalf of his counterpart. He knew he, himself, could be a dick sometimes, could be overconfident and cool tempered, but he could never imagine himself putting others at risk to get ahead. 

Peter got up and crossed to Quentin, got down and started undoing one of the ropes around his wrists. 

"We have some more things to talk about, but now that we are certain you aren't Mysterio, I'll let you get cleaned up." Peter tells him, going to the other wrist.

"We have to talk about my illusions, don't we?" Quentin asks, rolling around his wrist. "About how they seem to become solid?"

Peter was silent and wouldn't meet Quentin's gaze.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have to fix the paragraph spacing once I get on my computer, sorry for the wonkiness

It was nighttime by the time the jet landed in a scorched clearing, surrounded by the remains of skeletal trees that reached up towards the cloudy sky.

The last couple of hours between Peter and Quentin had been relatively informative, both men looking out at the setting sun through the oval windows, sharing as much information as they could on their universes. Quentin had felt a stab of sadness upon learning of this universe’s Tony Stark’s death and had fought the urge to pat Peter’s stiffening shoulders, instead examining his own rough hands.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Was all that came out, in a small voice. Quentin winced at how feeble it sounded. How many times had he heard that same sentiment since the accident in the lab, since being the host of some terrible ability he couldn’t begin to understand, since he’d admitted himself to the hospital? Hundreds? Thousands of times, maybe!

Peter chuckled, looking away as he rubbed at his reddening eyes. He didn’t cry anymore, but he still felt the wetness threaten. “It’s okay. I’m glad to know he’s okay out there _somewhere_.”

The jet landed, jostling them both in their seats across from one another.

* * *

“What is this place?” Peter was the one to ask questions now, Quentin standing back a bit, silent. They all stood in the eviscerated field, the jet now invisible about thirty feet away, and standing around in a small circle in the center of the space.

Happy was messing around with the small watch at his wrist, his face lit blue in the darkness. His pudgy fingers kept hitting buttons, filling the air with the sounds of BEEPS and whines.

“A place I think you’ll enjoy…” Happy glances quickly at the group before continuing his work. “If I can get this damn door to open…”

CLICK!

“AHA!” Happy exclaims in triumph, pumping a fist in the air.

Below them a small patch of ground slid away seamlessly, revealing a metal floor.

Happy swept his hand forward, a grin on his face. “Ladies first.”

May looked at Happy out of the corner of her eye, jokingly suspicious. 

Quentin, not realizing the joke between the two, stepped forward with serious eyes, like a willing sacrifice.

When nothing happened, he blinked in confusion, looked around at the laughing faces, at these new people trying to hide their smirks behind raised hands.

“What?” He tried to explain, face turning pink in the darkness. “None of us know what’s down there and the lady looked freaked out.”

“The ‘ladies’ name is May.” Aunt May said with a smile, pushing some of her thick dark hair over her shoulder.

“Guess you’re a lady now Mr. Beck.” Peter chuckled and the rest followed suit onto the silvery platform.

As they stood there in a small circle, Happy clicked something on his watch and the group slowly descended into the earth, lines of light flaring up as they lowered, to keep them from being in the dark. Above, the patch of grass moved back into place, sealing them off from the world.

Underneath the ground, the elevator grinding to a halt, they entered a long corridor, all gleaming metal inlaid with dim blue lights. Happy led the way and Quentin lingered back, shoulders and back stiff with tension. His face was a stone wall, his lips pressed into a pale line.

Peter eyed Quentin out of the corner of his eye, noticed how the man’s thick hands kept clenching and unclenching, turning his knuckles white.

“You okay?” Peter asked, lagging behind to walk next to Beck.

Peter still couldn’t get over how similar the Quentin’s looked (even though they were the same person, Peter kept reminding himself), with the cutting blue eyes and the sharp jaw. But where Mysterio had been shaven and clean, this Beck was a mess, with longer hair streaked with grey down to his shoulders, slight wrinkles showing how much older he was in his universe and most differently, how he held himself, like he was waiting for the world to deliver a blow.

Quentin blinked at Peter, seeming having been lost in his own thoughts. “Y-yeah. Just still trying to get my head around that I killed someone I created from thin air and that anything I make becomes solid enough to interact with this world. It honestly scares me that I can’t control it. At least before the only one being harmed was me.” He spurted out; his voice laced with anxiety that churned Peter’s stomach.

After a few moments of silence Quentin spoke again. “Peter?”

“Yeah?” Peter responded. “What’s up, Mr. Beck?”

Quentin chuckled, scratching at the back of his head as they walked. “Why don’t you call me Quinn… if you’d like. So maybe it won’t be so weird for you. When you spoke about the _other_ me before, he seemed so awful with what he did. I might not be the best person in the world, I’ve been called an asshole a handful of times, but I don’t want to share his name if he was such an evil person.”

Peter stopped, blinked at Quentin for a moment, taking in his words as memories flashed through his mind and he clenched his fists. Tears stung in his eyes, but he breathed through them.

Peter smiled once he’d controlled himself, pushing back the dark thoughts slinking into his conscious. “That sounds great actually. Thanks, Quinn.”


End file.
